


The First Wound

by aurora_ff



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_ff/pseuds/aurora_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier is given a mission: to forge a red-headed girl into a a killer and a weapon. </p><p>Warning: There are strong themes of rape here, although nothing described explicitly.  Female character is 16-years-old; Male character is 25+.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Wound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themonkeycabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themonkeycabal/gifts).



The Soldier revives to a mission unlike most others. “There is a girl, _voyen_. She must conquer her fears, she must be tempered and hardened. You will teach her. Transform her, take what remains of her innocence, but do not disfigure her.”

They give him only a small curved knife. They bring him into a dark complex with no doors save for the one he first entered. The door locks behind and entraps him. He finds many levels and walkways receding into the blackness. A maze, a testing ground. He explores, prowls his new cage and hers.

“Hello?” a voice of uncertainty calls. He finds the girl with a supple woman’s body. She is blindfolded, her hands are lashed to a railing. Barefoot and in nothing more than her nightclothes. She hears his footsteps and shifts.

“Please,” she whispers in Russian. “Tell me what you want.”

The Soldier stands over her and uses the knife to cut her free of the plastic binds. The knife finds its sheathe. The girl tears off the blindfold, her thanks on her lips. 

He grabs her arm and drags her down the walkway to the deck below. “Wait!” she calls. The girl struggles with little heart. Her feet keep up. “Who are you? Who do you work for? KGB, right?”

He pauses with the girl at the bottom of the stairs. He turns towards her. The girl sees his face for the first time and relaxes. A small smile of surety passes her lips. 

The girl trusts her intelligence, beauty, and words will save her from the monsters. 

The girl is wrong.

The slap of his metal arm sends her sprawling to the floor. The girl, dazed, cannot find her feet. The lace she wears is weaker than she.

The first wound he visits upon her body is one that can never be undone and yet will leave no scar to behold. She struggles and weeps beneath him as he works. There is no pleasure for the Soldier. There is only his orders. The moment she is silent and passive and resigned, he yanks her to her feet by her hair. Releases her, pushes her away.

She stumbles and stares at him, quaking and frozen, like a doe-eyed prey animal.

“Again,” passes through his lips.

The girl flees into the shadows, but he stalks her patiently. Her panic is easy to track.

The next time he catches her, she howls and twists like a feral beast and tries to bite and scratch him before he subdues her. With the blade pressed to her neck to still her, he rewards her with a demonstration of how flesh and nerves and the three pounds of meat in a skull can betray anyone. With his kinder of hands, he makes her writhing and weak and without breath before taking himself from her.

“Again.”

Soon enough, he reveals her hiding place underneath a floor grate, and the gaze she offers him is one of fear and surrender. 

He pauses. He may have to start his pitiless task over. If he does not succeed, they may do away with her. He knows this somehow.

He reaches to drag her out. She clasps a freed section of pipe and strikes towards his jaw. The Soldier blocks the blow, but he still feels the dull bloom of pain in his unchanged arm. She swings herself deftly out of his reach and back into the Stygian labyrinth.

Her cunning and violence earns her a only an hour of respite. She has not yet learned the fullness of her own strength. His mission is not yet done.

The Soldier begins the hunt again. Out of his reach, she watches him, studies him. He catches her gaze. 

Something shifts. He witnesses in her a cool control; the very detachment that makes him the Soldier, again and again.

She disappears, weaves shadows and echoes. Distractions. Still, he must chase her. Tutor her in the ways this is done and was done. It is imperative somehow. More than the task the bloodless men give him.

A shade, a girl leaps upon him. Something winds around his neck and she tangles then ducks and uses all her weight to cling to him, choke him, force him to his knees. His metal fingers quickly snap the binds. He twists and rolls on top of her, pinning her sparrow’s frame to the ground, a hand on her hip and another on her shoulder. The girl has an opening.

“Again,” he commands. He invites the retribution.

She arches her back and releases a savage cry. His little knife, now in her delicate hand, stabs his vulnerable shoulder. Piercing him, she attempts another cut. He grunts and catches and presses the blade out of her grasp. His metal hand clasps around her slender neck.

His life and agony flows in trickles and drops upon her, red soaking into her inky tatters and falling upon her white collarbone, her rose lips. It is as it should be. The girl gasps as she tastes his blood, her victory. Wound for wound. The girl laughs like she sobs.

The Soldier witnesses the fullness of his efforts. The girl-weapon. The steel is a part of her in a way his arm, for all its power, is not. His handiwork, his legacy. Everything they want him to make of her. Everything and more. Will she last beyond the ice of his tomb and the shock of the chair when he is enthroned again?

With his shining arm, he squeezes the air out of her throat, sending her into that cold oblivion that is greater than sleep and lesser than death. He sits back, tucks his legs under him, and awaits the grey of his own erasure. His only desire is not to forget the beautiful color of her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> "Voyen" is my Anglicized version of the Russian воин, meaning "Warrior/Soldier/Beserker".
> 
> I assume any "Kudos" are for the writing, and not the approval of the violence within.
> 
> There is one scene in the Avengers 1 movie where Natasha is trembling and basically "out of it" after her near-death encounter with the Hulk on the hellicarrier (until she is called to rescue Hawkeye/Barton.) I attribute that to her having flashbacks to being hunted by the Winter Soldier. Also, in CA:TWS, there is a battle scene where the Winter Soldier calls off his troops to hunt Natasha alone. I harken it back to when he was compelled to hunt her in the shadow labyrinth.
> 
> And [this fan cartoon about sums up all the mean things that happens to Bucky here in Ao3. ](http://feanorinleatherpants.tumblr.com/post/89338763160/dont-look-in-the-trash-can-there-is-nothing-but)


End file.
